


Vigil

by darthmelyanna, miera



Series: stargate_ren [16]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-16
Updated: 2007-08-16
Packaged: 2019-09-30 08:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17220074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthmelyanna/pseuds/darthmelyanna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/miera/pseuds/miera
Summary: John returns to Caldora to find the country's existence and that of his own family in a precarious state.





	Vigil

The ride from Atlantis to Madrona was a brutal one, across some of the roughest terrain Atalan had to offer. The snows had been plentiful in the country throughout the winter, making the ground soft and harder to traverse quickly. With the melting going on in the Talas Mountains the River Tethys, the long river that ran northward through the heart of Atalan, was overflowing its banks, making John of Sheppard's trek that much more grueling. The river cost him an extra day in his search for a safe crossing, a day he feared he could not afford.

Then, of course, there were the mountains to contend with.

Six months earlier – and it was hard to believe it had only been six months – he had crossed the Talas range where the mountains were mere hills, along Atalan's southeastern border with Doranda. Now he crossed them near their highest point, through the Mearali pass. He'd seen the high valley in which lay the source of the river from a distance, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought he would ever cross it.

At the headwaters of the Mearali, he and Silvanus paused for water and rest. Up this high, John felt as though he could simply step up off the ground and fly the rest of the way. But he dared not spare much time to think about such fantasies as he mounted his horse again and they began the tricky process of picking their way down from the mountaintop. Before the end of that day, he was back in his native land.

The hills and pasture land of Sheppard were just as green as John remembered.

Madrona was tucked away in the foothills of the Talas, so he did not have to go far into Caldora before reaching the city. Still, from his vantage point on the way down the mountains, he could see evidence of the Goa'uld armies' passage. They had come close to the city, closer than he was comfortable with. It only served to spur him onward. He had to reach Madrona before it was too late. Five sons had died before their father. John would not let him leave this earth before he could say goodbye, not if there was anything he could do about it.

As he approached Madrona, the bells of the sentry began to ring. John suspected they would not think him a threat, as he was a lone rider coming from the wrong direction to hail from the Goa'uld. He was, however, glad to know that they were not letting their guard down for anything.

He was met by half a dozen men on horseback, and he pulled Silvanus to a halt. "Hail, brothers," he called.

"Who goes there?" one of them called back. They were still riding toward him.

John waited until they had stopped, so they did not have to shout to be heard over the pounding of hooves on hard earth. "John of Sheppard," he replied. "Please, take me to my father."

The men all stayed still for a moment, though their horses moved about, restless from the gallop up the hillside. Then John was bombarded with questions.

Not that long ago, he'd thought it bad enough to endure the attentions of Atalanians, the respect bordering on hero worship for assisting the Athosians during a Wraith attack and then saving Elizabeth on the morning of her coronation. That experience was, as it turned out, nothing compared to the attention he got in his homeland. Here, he had become a legend.

"Peace!" John finally yelled at them, holding up his hand to silence them. It felt strange after all these years, but it seemed he still retained his authority over the people of Sheppard. "Gentlemen, please, does my father yet live?"

"Yes, my lord," one of the men told him, "though his health has steadily declined since the flight to Madrona."

John felt his chest tighten. "Then let us ride forth," he said.

They started off together, but John was soon leading them all down the slope at an almost reckless pace. The gates were opened wide for them when they had come around to the southern side of the city. He just barely remembered to slow down upon entering, lest he trample some hapless soul in his haste. Someone in the watchtowers must have recognized him, for it was not long before he saw Cameron Mitchell rushing toward him on foot.

John dismounted immediately. It was the first time in four years he had seen any member of his family, and he found he had no words to speak. Instead, they embraced like brothers in the open street, heedless of the many, many people who had gathered to see what the commotion was.

When they released each other, John still kept his hand on Cameron's shoulder. "Cousin," he said, "my father–"

"Is waiting now to see you," Cameron finished for him. His cousin's voice dropped so as not to be heard by the whispering onlookers. "I believe he has kept himself alive these last few weeks on the hope of seeing you again."

Cameron called his squire over to see to Silvanus and led John through the winding streets to the governor's house, where his father was staying. John could not think of anything to say as they hurried through the narrow streets and Cameron said nothing until they entered the front doors of the house. "His room is upstairs," Cameron said before John could ask. "The second door on the right."

"Thank you," John replied, seeing the understanding on his cousin's face as he turned and took the stairs two at a time. His heart pounded in his chest from something far worse than the exercise.

Dusk had fallen outside, and the servants had not yet lit candles inside the house, but the door in question was slightly open. His father was not, as he'd expected, lying in bed, but sitting in a chair and watching the corridor expectantly. John stepped over the threshold and then spent a long moment just staring. In a voice he hardly recognized as his own, he said, "Father?"

John had spent four years in exile, but Geoffrey, the Marquis of Sheppard, seemed to have aged twenty years in that time. He was old and frail now, two words John had never thought he would apply to his father. He had once been a tower of strength, raising his six sons to be just the same. When the Ori had taken all but John, John had watched his father stand resilient in the face of so much loss. It hurt deeply to see him cut down to this all-too-mortal figure now, but then Geoffrey slowly pushed himself to his feet.

John was before him in an instant, crossing the room in just a few paces. When Geoffrey was almost standing straight, he let go of the arm of the chair and grasped John's arm instead. His eyes searched John's face closely. "My boy," he said, just barely above a whisper.

John embraced his father then, and the two stood for a long time clinging to each other. "My boy," Geoffrey repeated, and John could hear and feel how he was weeping. John himself could not keep the tears from his own eyes. He'd long ago given up the hope of ever seeing his father again, and it seemed too much to grasp now that this was actually happening.

He could feel his father's strength beginning to fail, and he helped him back down to his chair. Geoffrey looked him over as John crouched before him. "A knight of Atalan," he remarked with a small smile. "I'm not certain what I should feel, but I am not surprised. You always had a strange interest in what lay north of the mountains."

John tried not to feel self-conscious about his father's words, but wasn't overly successful. "That is a long story," he said.

"Yes, I imagine it is," his father replied. He squeezed John's shoulder. "And it is a long journey from the northern sea to Madrona. You should rest."

John heard footsteps and turned to see his cousin hovering in the doorway. "So should you," he told his father. "I will leave you in my cousin's care."

"John," Geoffrey said, but when John looked at his father he said nothing more.

John took his hand. "I know, Father," he said. "I feel the same."

A wide-eyed servant showed him to a chamber to use as his own. John cleaned himself and changed his clothes, but he did not stay there for long. Instead, he returned to his father's room, and upon finding him asleep in bed, he settled into the chair nearby, his hand holding his father's tightly through the night.

* * *

John was dozing in and out, still sitting in the chair, when there was a gentle knock on the door. He was alert almost immediately, and after listening to his father's raspy breathing for a moment to make sure he had not been disturbed, he got up to answer it.

The sight of the tiny woman on the other side brought a tired smile to John's face. "Janet," he said, letting her in.

She wasted no time in embracing him, and in that moment, John felt as though it had not been that long ago that he'd been pulling Janet's hair when he was a boy. "It is good to see you again, my lord," she told him.

"I'm glad to see you as well." He beckoned her to sit at a table across the room from his father's bed and spoke quietly. "How is Cassandra?"

Janet smiled wistfully. "She's grown like a weed," she said. "She's become a good assistant to me as well. She wanted to come with me when she heard you had returned, but I thought Lord Geoffrey could do with as little excitement as possible."

John's eyes were drawn back to the frail figure on the bed. "I will admit that I never gave much thought to seeing him like this," he replied. "He stayed so strong when all of us went off to war, and even when I was the only one to return." He was quiet for a little while. "What is his condition?" Janet had been tending to the family for many years, and she would know the answers better than anyone else.

"His heart is failing," she said. "I cannot say how much longer he will live. Sometimes I think he has been willing himself to survive until he could see you again."

Cameron had told him much the same thing. John felt a tight pain in his chest as he watched his father sleep. "When did this start?" he asked.

Janet hesitated a moment. "When your mother died. It happened very suddenly. She went to her bedchamber with a headache one afternoon, and a few days later she was gone."

John had always felt that had he known of her illness in time, he would have come back home, exile or not. Now he considered if he had, he still would have been too late.

Janet reached across the table and laid her hand on his, watching him critically. "And how are you, John?"

"I'm well enough," he replied, knowing the barrage of mothering that was about to come, but in truth, he almost welcomed the fussing. He had been away from home for so long.

"It must have been a difficult journey, all the way from Atlantis," she continued, "and I can tell you have not eaten as well as you should."

"Janet–"

"I would not deprive you of time with your father," she said. "But you need to take care of yourself as well. Your people need you."

John glanced at his father, who was stirring from sleep, and tried to ignore the feeling of how very unprepared he was for the task ahead.

* * *

Geoffrey's appetite had left him weeks ago, but he forced down the broth the servants brought for him because John was watching closely and Geoffrey suspected the boy wouldn't eat if he didn't.

It took little to set John to talking of his life since the exile. He spoke of traveling, of ships and seas and distant lands that none in their family had ever seen before. Geoffrey knew John was leaving much out of his narrative. The anger, isolation and grief of being sent from his own homeland unjustly must have weighed heavily upon the young man, but he didn't speak of it.

Geoffrey's mind cast itself back to happier times, of his sons gathering around him in the twilight when he was able to snatch some time from his duties to be with his family. The older boys would regale their father and mother with gossip from the town or their small escapades in the fields and hills. Geoffrey could remember his youngest son, cuddled in Isabelle's lap, already in his night clothes but listening with wide eyes and open ears as his brothers boasted and laughed together.

Now it seemed John had pursued all the adventures his brothers had never had the chance to seek.

John poured himself a drink of water. "And so you crossed into Atalan," Geoffrey said. John nodded. "And somehow landed yourself into the service of the young queen." His memory failed momentarily. "What is her name, again?"

"Elizabeth," John said, the reply coming almost automatically. Something about the tone of the word, though, caught his attention. Perhaps it was that he had just been thinking of his late wife, but Geoffrey raised his eyebrows and watched curiously as his youngest son actually blushed.

"I take it the lady is fair?" he asked with a grin.

John avoided his eyes. "Yes, and fair-minded," he replied. But there was a struggle going on within the boy. He was attempting to sound calm. Why would such a thing be necessary?

"John," Geoffrey began, and then hardly knew how to continue.

His son folded his arms across his chest. "The queen has been very kind to me," he said, though his voice still carried an edge of emotion. "For all her youth and inexperience with the world, for all that she is the ruler of a rival nation, she and her people have treated me better than my own sovereign did."

Given the circumstances, Geoffrey could well understand why compassion and acceptance would matter so much to John. To have been cast from his home and find a welcome in the most unlikely of places would have been impossible had his son not possessed an open mind. Geoffrey had long ago recognized his own stubbornness and temper in John, though he preferred to think of it as strength of character and a sense of rightness. But John was also quicker to forgive than his father ever had been. His mind was always more open and agile.

Yet he still felt the boy was holding something else back.

The servants came bustling in then, and Geoffrey set the subject aside, for the moment. When the servants had left, Geoffrey turned their attention to the stack of papers accumulating now that he was not as able to take care of it himself, knowing that John needed to know how to deal with the administration of the province. John drew within himself as the afternoon progressed, and Geoffrey decided not to broach the subject again, but he knew there was something more than his son had said.

* * *

Though he knew his uncle did not have much time left, Cameron rode out of Madrona with the patrol every other day, keeping watch for any sign of a Goa'uld advance in the direction of the city. Privately, Cameron knew that if Geoffrey lived to see the Goa'uld attack Madrona, the ailing marquis would not survive a flight from the city. The longer the Goa'uld stayed away, the better.

They returned before evening, and after his squire had taken his horse in hand, Cameron entered the manor house. As he moved toward the main staircase, he spotted Janet coming down, a tray of half-full food dishes in hand and a worried frown on her face.

He met her at the foot of the stairs, concerned. "Janet?"

"My lord," she said, nodding. "Were there any signs of danger?"

Cameron shook his head. "No, they aren't heading this way as of yet." He glanced at the tray. "My uncle still does not eat?"

"No," she replied frankly. "I have seen this many times, but it is still distressing. His body is failing, and he cannot summon the will to eat."

Janet headed through the servants' corridor that led to the kitchens, and he followed her, despite the fact that he was covered in the dust accumulated from a day's riding. For several minutes, he and Janet ate and drank in silence, until the midwife spoke up. "Cassie tells me that everyone's in an absolute flutter about Lord John's return."

"There is a tremendous amount of curiosity about him," Cameron replied. "The riders I went out with today were all eager to hear anything I could tell them about my cousin."

She nodded. "I have heard talk already that Lord John will go to the front to lead our forces against the Goa'uld with the Sodan warriors, and someone else said that he's going to go to Redwater to put the other lords in their place."

Cameron laughed. "That is a sight I'd like to see." He shook his head. He had only been at Redwater for a few days, but he had witnessed enough to make him grateful that his cousin had come home. He wasn't certain he wanted to ever have to deal with so many politicians at one time ever again. It was unnerving and frustrating – and he had hardly had any contact with anyone but the king and Princess Carolyn. He could think of little that would induce him to return to Redwater any time in the near future.

A wistful look came over Janet's face. "Everyone has missed him greatly," she said. "What do you think he will do?"

Cameron shook his head. "John and I were close as boys, but it has been a long time since we were confidants," he replied. "The war changed him so much, and then the exile... I know he has loyalties to a foreign queen, but I cannot imagine that he would give up his place here when so many people need him. I believe he still loves his countrymen above all else. He was always loyal beyond question, and I cannot believe he has changed so much, even after all he's been through."

* * *

John had known that his arrival in Madrona would not remain quiet for long, but even he was surprised at the speed a missive arrived from Redwater. In formal language of the court, King Henry was welcoming him back to Caldora, though with no mention of the exile, and expressing hopes that John’s return to his homeland was as beneficial to him as it doubtless was to the people of Sheppard. After reading it himself, John had handed it over to his father once they had taken their breakfast.

Geoffrey read the brief message, and then snorted derisively. "Our illustrious king," he said, "wishes you to join him at Redwater."

John nodded. "I thought as much. He wastes no time in making such insinuations, at least."

"Considering you have just arrived home, it would be ill-bred of him to summon you from Madrona officially, but there is no protocol for subtle hints." The older man shook his head. "Perhaps Henry thinks that in my time away from court and its politics," he said mockingly, "I have lost my ability to read between the lines of a royal communication. Perhaps I should assure him that I have not lost that skill."

John leaned back in the chair, staring his father. Cameron had warned him of his father's bitterness toward the king, and indeed John understood his reasons. Although he considered himself fortunate to have found a home in Atlantis, his time in exile had not been as wonderfully adventurous as he had implied in the stories he had told to Elizabeth. There were many darker details that were not fit for the ears of any lady. He had not told his father everything either. While he was sure the man could fill in the blanks for himself, John did not want him to dwell on the less pleasant aspects of his life away from Caldora.

Henry of Landry bore much of the responsibility for the suffering caused by John's exile, both what he himself endured and for the pain of the Marquis of Sheppard and his people. John had no intention of smiling and kindly absolving him and his nobles of their guilt. At this point, King Henry needed him far more than John needed the monarch. The province of Sheppard was crucial to the protection of the realm, after all, and as such its marquis had always been a man of great power. From what John had learned thus far in his stay, his father's removal from court had been a great blow to Henry's political standing in Redwater.

It was comforting, John supposed, to see that his father shared his resentment. However, he also knew from Janet's reports that his father's body was fast failing him. He did not wish to fill what remaining time they had left together with recriminations against the king. John had come home to see his father, not to continuously assign blame.

"Cameron told me you chose to remain away from court," was all John said aloud.

Geoffrey waved his hand dismissively. "I had no use for the fools. Neither did your mother, so we quit the place."

His mother. She was yet another person who had suffered because of John's exile. Only now there was no way she could know he had come home. But John had other things on his mind.

"I assume, however, you would keep up as best you could on what is happening in the capital," John said.

Geoffrey glanced at him in amusement. "True," he admitted, "but not much beyond what my esteemed colleagues fight about every week." A shadow passed over the old man's face. "Some things have been impossible to miss. Prince William's death, Queen Aurelia abandoning Redwater afterward... It is a hard thing for a mother to endure the loss of her son, especially in such a senseless accident."

John winced. He had been in Doranda when word of the young prince's death had reached him. The boy had been thrown from his horse and his neck broken, killing him instantly. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on the consequences of his death, mostly having to do with Princess Carolyn, who now carried the power to choose her father's successor.

It was strange, but even with the animosity between John's father and the king, he couldn't help but detect a note of sympathy in his father's words. Geoffrey had also lost children while they were young, and his family's future was now pinned on John, who under other circumstances would never have been the heir. As Princess Carolyn would choose her father's heir and thus direct the nation, so too would John be responsible for the future of his subjects. It was a sobering thought.

He looked up to see his father watching him closely. "Let us talk of other things, John," Geoffrey said gently, and John was glad to change the subject. "Tell me of the sea."

* * *

Days passed, and his father weakened. Eventually he no longer had the strength to rise from bed, though he did his best to stay alert during the day. Even bound to his bed, Geoffrey was a force to be reckoned with. Though his body failed, his mind was sharp, and the days were filled with the conversations he and John had not been able to have these past four years.

More than a week after his return to Sheppard, John sat at his father's desk in the evening and stared at the papers scattered before him. His father had been tired after dinner and had agreed to nap for a few hours until supper, provided that John agreed to look through the stacks of reports and letters and ledgers that had been accumulating in the study. Eager to see his father get some rest, John had made the bargain.

Sitting there now, though, John couldn't help but feel at a loss. He'd had some training in the running of a province, but that had been several years ago and it had not prepared him for running a province in the midst of war. Many times he had seen Elizabeth looking through papers such as these, but only now did he fully comprehend the reasons behind the stress he had often sought to alleviate in her.

Pushing aside thoughts of Elizabeth, he picked up one of the missives and scanned it quickly. It was an urgent request for more supplies in the northern section of Madrona. The city was bursting at the seams with refugees from all over Sheppard, and resources had not been plentiful before the invasion. John sighed. How was he to deal with crises like these, which arose nearly every day?

The creaking of the door distracted him. Cameron stepped inside and stopped when he spotted him, surprise flickering across his face. "Oh," he said, "I thought you would be with–"

"He's resting at the moment," John hurriedly explained. He gestured at the papers in front of him. "Father asked me to look through these."

Cameron nodded and an uncomfortable silence fell. John felt himself even more at a loss. He and Cameron had been close playmates as children, but after John had been drafted along with his older brothers, that relationship had been brought to an abrupt end. When John came home years later, they had become different people. They had never regained their childhood closeness.

John didn't even know how Cameron felt about being replaced as heir to Sheppard. Cameron had been here for years, was well-known and respected by the people of the province, or so he had heard from Janet's glowing stories. But now that John was here, Cameron had been reduced to the management of a single district of Sheppard and a supply of gold, his inheritance from his father and mother respectively.

"Are you–" John began awkwardly, and then cleared his throat. "That is, I hope my being here does not cause you hardship."

Cameron sat down and looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean, cousin? Words can't express how happy I am to have you back here with us."

John felt his face flush. "I just, well, you have been Father's heir for much of your life, and this is the second time I've come out of the hills to supplant you—"

The younger man held up his hands, cutting him off. "John, in Uncle Geoffrey's eyes, he has had one heir and one heir alone. I have always known that he would find a way to bring you home." He shook his head. "I don't think he wanted a war as an excuse, but he took full advantage of it."

John smiled ruefully, feeling a little more relaxed. "Clever of him. I doubt the king was in any position to refuse him."

"Not at all." A shadow of anxiety passed over Cameron's face. "If you hadn't been able to return, I don't think I could take my uncle's place. He's been ruling Sheppard for so long, it doesn't seem like anyone else can do it."

John leaned back wearily in his chair. "That's how I feel. I've spent so much time away, and there was never enough time when I was home to learn everything." He glanced toward the closed door of his father's bedchamber. "He's dying," he whispered, almost to himself, "and I'm not ready."

Cameron did not respond, but both men knew John was talking about more than taking up the management of the beleaguered province.

* * *

Nearly two weeks after John's arrival in Madrona, it stormed.

Spring storms in Caldora were often violent, and this one was no exception. It was all John could do to keep the shutters closed as the evening wore into night and the storm showed no signs of abating. His father did not need the drafts.

Geoffrey coughed, and John was by his side instantly to offer him water, but the old man waved him off. "We have things to talk about, son," he said. "Sit."

John was no more able to disobey him now than he had been decades before. "What is it, Father?" he asked.

"You may both feel awkward about this, but until you have your footing, listen to your cousin," Geoffrey said. "He may feel no more prepared about this change than you are, but he knows the province, and the people love him. Listen to Cameron when you can. He will not lead you astray."

He coughed again, his entire body shaking with the force of it. "Father," John said in alarm, "should I fetch Janet?"

Geoffrey shook his head. "She is skilled in her arts, but there is nothing she can do for me now," he said. The hacking subsided. "I want to tell you these things while I still can."

John bit back the instinctive denial that came to his lips at the words. Instead, he leaned forward and took his father's hand. Geoffrey took a deep, ragged breath and looked up at the ceiling. "Give King Henry whatever assistance you can," he continued. "I know he has been no friend to either of us, but he has tried to right his mistake. If he is still the man I knew many years ago, he is a good man, and he needs everything he can have if he is to lead us out of this crisis. For the sake of our people, set your grudge aside." There was a knowing look in Geoffrey's eyes at describing it solely as John's grudge, and John found himself grinning back.

His father's eyes turned curious. "Now, this queen of yours."

John lowered his head. "Father..."

"I am an old man, but not a blind one," Geoffrey said. "I have watched you when you speak of her, and seen a look I remember from my own face when I talked of your mother. You care deeply for the lady, and not as a knight cares for his sovereign."

The wind howled as they were silent a moment. Embarrassment warred inside him against the desire to be truthful and share the burden he had carried since leaving Atalan weeks ago. "I love her, sir," he blurted out. John looked up then, but not altogether happily. "I want nothing more than to be in Atlantis with her, to see her smile, to kiss her again..." His father got an amused look on his face at the admission of having kissed her before, but John ignored it. "She has gone to Iolan to be courted by Prince Radek. She could be engaged by now–"

"And perhaps she is not," Geoffrey interrupted. "John, what your mother and I wanted most for you was that you might be happy. If this young lady is the key to your happiness..."

"She is a queen," John replied, not certain why he was protesting this.

"Yes," his father said. "And a marquis may court a queen."

His father was correct in the abstract, John knew. But he was not so sure that this particular marquis and queen could do as they wished, even assuming that Elizabeth would accept him in the first place.

The memory of how she had responded to his kiss flared within him. No matter what happened, he felt certain he would never forget how she had reached for him when he was ready to let her go. John had been reliving that moment so often he wondered sometimes about his own sanity. He set it aside, though. Elizabeth was far away, and he had other things to deal with before him.

But his father seemed to have fallen into a reverie and John was reluctant to disturb him. Neither of them spoke for a while, and the room was filled with sounds of the storm outside. Finally, Geoffrey said, "I am weary. I think I shall rest a while."

Soon after he was sleeping, more peacefully than John had seen since he'd returned to Caldora. Yet it troubled John, and he stayed at his father's side through the long night, holding his hand.

In the hour before the dawn, the storm finally lifted over Madrona. A stillness spread over the land as the winds and rain faded, and in the quiet before sunrise, Geoffrey of Sheppard breathed his last.

John wept bitterly for some time, still clinging to his father's hand. So much had been taken from him, and while he was grateful that he had been able to return in time, it did not lessen the pain. Now he alone was left of his father's house. As a boy he had never dreamed it would come to this, and his tears were not just for his father but also his mother and his brothers, for everything that had been lost.

When the sun began to rise, John scrubbed the wetness from his face and kissed his father's forehead. He left the room and went downstairs to the kitchen. Cameron and Janet were sitting at the table despite the early hour. Janet rose immediately at the look on John's face. "My lord," she said, "does your father need anything?"

John looked at the two of them and swallowed hard. "No, Janet," he replied. His voice sounded rough and hollow to his own ears. "He is gone."

Janet lifted her hand to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. Cameron stood up and laid his hand on John's arm. The younger man opened his mouth, but said nothing. John was glad of it, for there were no words of comfort right now. Instead, Cameron embraced John.

"He loved you like a son," John whispered to his cousin, remembering his father's words the night before.

"He never gave up hope of your return."

When they had separated, Janet hugged them both. Then she did something she had never done before: she curtsied to John. "My lord," she said, "I am at your service."

Then Cameron bowed as well. "As am I, cousin."

John put aside his discomfort with seeing them defer to him. He might have lost his father, but seeing the sympathy on their faces reminded him that while he had lost much, he had not yet lost everything. He still had this remnant of his family left. He was not entirely alone.


End file.
